


Cream Tea and Other Wars

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Food Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 17:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21432313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: The lovely shout-cast prompted:Erubescent (adj) becoming red or reddish; blushing Substratum (noun) something that is spread or laid under something else Either both together or one at a time. I LOVE it when Crowley blushes. There is just something so endearing about it. ❤️❤️❤️
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	Cream Tea and Other Wars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shout-Cast (Pyracantha)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyracantha/gifts).

Crowley watches with fascination as - for the perhaps million, billionth time - the angel across from him uses the blunt knife to spread the jam across the scone. He smooths it up and down, gathering equal numbers of seeds (or thereabouts) into every quadrant. It ripples across the almost-level bread, and it is still as intriguing as the first time. He’s so - hah - damned _precise_ about it. 

It’s… 

It’s about to be destroyed by the mountain of cream he’ll splodge on. But Crowley will know it’s there. Gleaming, pink and sweet, under the upper layer. Sputtering out around the edges, for sure, but that glossy lake murdered by white, fluffy, dairy dollops.

It’s hypnotic. He has no desire to make his own, not when he can watch those neat hands work and the bum-shuffle in the seat and the little _haroomph _noises as he completes his task. It’s like a work of art, every single time.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t care for–”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry?” the angel blinks. 

“Why do you only do it that way.”

“It’s the correct way.”

“About as many people disagree as agree.”

“And they are _wrong_,” Aziraphale insists, his fingers wriggling with less than pleasure. 

Crowley knows to push this much further risks spoiling the angel’s mood for good, but he… sometimes, the devil in him is too much. Questions _burn _in him, for better or worse, and he _has to ask them_.

“Have you even tried it the other way?”

“…why would I?”

“Because you might be wrong? And you might be doing yourself out of the best cream tea experience in the world?”

“Look, it’s something you simply couldn’t _understand_.”

“Because I’m evil?”

“Because you _don’t eat_. Not like I do. And it’s - you like chaos! You thrive upon it. But some things, dear boy, are meant to be…” His hand gestures to the scone. “As they are.”

“Right. Like raw meat.”

“In sushi, yes.”

“I just don’t see why it matters at all. Why not just get a jar with both in and spread that?” Now he is being ridiculous, and risking a Scene, but again, he can’t stop.

“If the Queen of England herself thinks this is the–”

“You told me you thought she had ghastly taste in umbrellas, angel.”

“…not quite the words I used. I believe I said ‘striking’.”

He had meant, of course, ghastly. Crowley had agreed, but not said as much, pretending that judging regal attire was beneath him. 

“I just don’t see, why of all the things I took credit for, this bloody scone thing has been going on since the eleventh century, and is my most popular work downstairs. There’s _social media _arguments about it, angel. Internet things! I know you don’t understand, but it’s - it’s - _maddening_.”

“You are simply annoyed that my debate - and do not use that other word, it _was _a debate - is more popular than the one you started about how you pronounce the word.”

Maybe that is part of the frustration, it’s true. But seriously, Aziraphale came to blows with another foodie and he’s still getting background evil points all these years later. It’s… embarrassing in the extreme.

“You hide the colour,” he sniffs. “It’s messy.”

This makes the angel startle. Clearly Crowley having an aesthetic opinion - an actual opinion with a reason - had not occurred to him. 

“Oh.”

“I mean, you guzzle it down into brown mulch anyway, but it doesn’t… don’t you think it’s…?”

“It’s… about order.” Aziraphale softens. The cutlery is lowered. He turns the small plate around to show the ‘front’ (indistinguishable to Crowley) towards the demon. “Like with tea, although that order is about taste, as much as ritual.”

“So you’re saying because it’s always been done like that, you always will?”

“No. Only if I… find value and comfort in it. I adapted to moveable type, did I not?”

“About a million years after everyone else.” 

Aziraphale smiles. “Would… it satisfy you if I… tried one of your abominations? To… see?”

Crowley isn’t sure why the intense look directed at him makes him squirm so much. The angel often looks at him. Usually with some exasperation, or some resignation, but these… warmer… expressions… they are becoming more frequent, and more… heavy. He swallows past what feels like three scones, a baguette, and a tiger bread the size of a Sumatran one. “Uhn–”

“I may have been hasty, the… first time,” Aziraphale admits. “When I declined.”

“When you nearly punched that guy out.”

“Yes, well, he was rather _rude_.”

“If you… want to,” Crowley says, trying to pull the subject back. “I just. The jam looks nicer. Red and stuff. So…”

“I always liked the idea of it being a little surreptitious. You know. A little _peccadillo _covered up.” His eyes sparkle.

Damn him, his eyes sparkle. And Crowley is sure he’s the colour of said jam, as Aziraphale picks up his treat and bites into it. All the while watching his eyes. All the while.

“Guess it… wouldn’t hurt to try,” he husks out, hoarsely. 

Aziraphale eats disgustingly slowly. All lips and smiles and fluttering eye-lashes. Crowley considers using the jam knife to end things right now.

Finally, he is done. “You shall have to invite me back here tomorrow, then.”

“Huh?”

“I’m _stuffed_. And I must have a cleansed palate. In order to… experiment.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Crowley wonders if he can convince him to try other things, you know. So they have a reason to keep being here. There’s all _sorts _of ways he can pervert the course of tea. Breakfast. Brunch. Lunch. Dinner. All the meals. 

Especially because - after - the look of pure contentment above the hands folded on his stomach just… jam. What was he saying, again?

  


**Author's Note:**

> ([Here](https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/food-and-drink/queen-scones-jam-cream-what-goes-first-debate-cream-tea-outrage-a8260686.html) for those who might want to see the Fight….)
> 
> And if you'd like to send me [Prompts](https://dcdavechicken.tumblr.com/Prompts) I will love you forever. Well. I probably already do...


End file.
